"Five past five, from Surrey, Privet Drive."
Beside a vast, desolate, misty marshland, Harry struggled to free himself from the weight of Ron and Fred who were on top of him, rubbing his neck as he stood up.
Not far in front of him, under a tree, stood two tired and gloomy-looking wizards. One held a large gold watch, while the other had a thick roll of parchment and a quill, which began to dance on the parchment as the man with the watch spoke.
Both of them seemed to be dressed as Muggles, but... these wizards clearly weren't experts, wearing coarse tweed suits paired with thigh-high rubber galoshes, or a pleated kilt like those worn by men in the Highlands, topped with a South American poncho on the shoulders—
They looked utterly out of place.
"Good morning, Basil."
Mr. Weasley said, picking up the comb covered in dirt from the ground and handing it to the wizard in the pleated kilt. The man accepted the comb and then tossed it into a large box beside him, full of used portkeys.
"Hello, Arthur."
Basil's voice seemed soulless, "You're not on duty, huh, lucky you... We've been standing here all night... Hold on, let me find where your campsite is... Weasley... Weasley..." He looked down, searching through the parchment list, "From here, walk about a quarter of a mile, the first field is yours, the campsite manager is... Mr. Roberts."
"Five past five, from White Weasel Mountain."
The man with the gold watch shouted, followed by a loud pop—
"Senior!"
Clutching a boot in his hand, Cedric appeared on the open ground. After standing up straight, he was about to pat William on the shoulder but was given a stern look by the latter.
"...Morning."
William clutched his stomach, clicking his tongue; he shouldn't have gotten involved with the portkey—after pulling an all-nighter researching (torturing) that mummy, he noticed the sky was already beginning to brighten when he thought of just grabbing a meal and napping until noon. But in a moment of carelessness, Lupin roped him into this mess—
"Am I... am I still alive?"
Almost dazed by the portkey, Ron finally got up, spitting out the clod of dirt from his mouth, and asked rather confusedly.
"Of course you're alive—listen, you all better clear the way now, a large group of people is about to come from the Dark Forest at quarter past five."
The man with the gold watch shouted, quieting the somewhat noisy scene, and Mr. Weasley promptly called everyone to move on. They trekked across the desolate marshland, where the thick fog made it almost impossible to see anything.
After walking for about ten more minutes, a door emerged in the thick mist, followed by a small stone house.
Harry barely made out the field behind the stone house, where there were hundreds of tents, looking bizarre and arranged along the deep green landscape that extended towards the horizon's ends at the edge of a dark forest. They headed towards the door of the stone house.
A man was standing at the door, gazing towards the tents—he was a Muggle. Upon hearing their footsteps, he turned and looked at them.
"Good morning!"
Mr. Weasley's voice was full of enthusiasm, sounding energetic.
"Good morning!"
The Muggle's voice carried a hint of confusion.
"Mr. Roberts?"
"Ah, yes, that's me." Mr. Roberts nodded, "And who are you?"
"Weasley—three tents, booked about two days ago, correct?"
"Yes, certainly." Mr. Roberts said, turning to look at a chart pinned to the door. "You have a spot at the edge of the woods over there." He raised his hand, pointing toward the horizon, "Just staying for one night?"
"Of course—"
Mr. Weasley lowered his head, fumbling in his pocket to pull out a messy bundle of British Pounds. Clearly not very familiar with Muggle currency, he appeared troubled and turned around, seemingly looking for someone to help—
"This one, and this together will be enough—"
Hermione yawned, pointing at the bills, while William retracted his hand from his pocket—forgot again, there were no QR codes yet, nor did he have a smartphone.
"So... are you a foreigner?"
And as Mr. Weasley approached with the correct banknotes, Mr. Roberts suddenly asked, somewhat abruptly.
"Foreigner?"
Mr. Weasley repeated in confusion.
"You're not the only one struggling with the money." Mr. Roberts shook his head slightly, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley with half-closed eyes, "Just now, ten minutes ago, there were two people who tried to pay me with a large gold coin the size of a hubcap."
"...I thought I was seeing things." Mr. Roberts suddenly muttered rather confusedly.
"Really?"
Mr. Weasley looked a bit uneasy as he spoke.
Mr. Roberts lowered his head and started rummaging for change in a tin can at hand.
"... you know, there's never been so many people here." He suddenly said, his gaze once again drifting towards the mist-covered field not far away, "Hundreds of them, they've booked a whole lot of tents, people just keep flooding in..."
"But, is there something wrong?"
Mr. Weasley asked somewhat urgently, reaching out to take the change, but Mr. Roberts didn't hand it over.
"Yes, but..."
Roberts suddenly began to ponder. He stroked his chin and said, "Those guys, they're from all over, countless foreigners... and not just foreigners, but lots of very odd people, you know? This morning I saw a guy wandering around in a pleated skirt and a South American poncho."
At this moment, a wizard dressed in lantern pants, looking like a plump goldfish, suddenly descended from the sky, landing by Mr. Roberts's stone house.
"Obliviate!"
He raised his wand, pointing it at Mr. Roberts, and said sternly.
Consequently, Mr. Roberts's eyes began to clear up, his frown relaxed, and he wore a dazed expression, seemingly indifferent to everything, which was the state of someone whose memory had been altered. William furrowed his brows.
"Here's a map of the camp for you." The next moment, Mr. Roberts calmly said to Mr. Weasley again, "And here's your change."
"Thank you very much."
Mr. Weasley nodded.
"... he's going to end up with dementia at this rate." William frowned, somewhat puzzled. "So why do you insist on tormenting a Muggle?"
"They live here after all—"
The wizard in lantern pants joined them as they walked towards the campsite entrance, and upon hearing William's question, he started to ramble.
He looked extremely tired, unshaven, with a sallow complexion, half-moon circles under his eyes, and he continued to mumble quietly, "To keep this Muggle happy, I have to cast the forgetting spell about a dozen times a day—Ludo Bagman is just causing trouble, walking around loudly talking about Bludgers and Quaffles, not considering the need to guard against Muggles, ensure safety, I really want to put him on gate duty..."
Before he finished speaking, as if sensing something suddenly, he Disapparated, "See you later, Arthur." Before leaving, he winked at Arthur.
"... why not just send them on a holiday to Hawaii?"
William had just finished saying when he shook his head, seemingly also acknowledging reality that, unlike doing something like paying to send a Muggle family on vacation elsewhere, the "big shots" at the Ministry of Magic clearly preferred to pocket those Golden Galleons themselves—after all, the Obliviate spell doesn't cost Galleons.
They trudged through the misty fields, passing between rows of long tents.
Most tents seemed unremarkable, their owners apparently having tried to make them as much like Muggle tents as possible, but many of them had gone overboard, adding chimneys or weather vanes to the tents unnecessarily, looking out of place.
"Ah, here we are, look, this is our spot."
They arrived at the edge of the woods at the end of the field. There was an open space there, tents stacked up in the center of it, and in front of those things was a small sign that read—Weasley.
"Who said this place was remote? It's fantastic here!" Mr. Weasley said happily, "The pitch is just across the woods, couldn't be closer."
With that, he slid his backpack off his shoulder—
"Alright!" Mr. Weasley seemed a bit excited, "Technically, no magic allowed, since so many of us are on Muggle turf. We have to set up the tents with our own hands! It shouldn't be too hard... Muggles do it this way..."
"But, dad..."
Ginny, with her mouth open, pointed behind Mr. Weasley. The man instinctively turned around—only to see that on the once-vacant spot, there were now three tents already set up. William, yawning as he dove into one of them, caught the sight and turned back.
"...you should have mentioned it earlier but if you want to experience life."
William paused, then with a wave of his wand, the rightmost tent that had just been set up collapsed immediately, "Alright, good luck, I'm off to bed."
Thus, Mr. Weasley worked tirelessly for two and a half hours, and when he hammered in the last stake, the sun had fully risen. Harry, a bit wobbly, yawned and finally put away the map he had been holding upside down.
"Water's here—"
Carrying a bucket, Ron and the Weasley twins came running back, playfully roughhousing, and collapsed together in exhaustion—
"Guess who I just saw? Harry?"
Suddenly, Ron lifted his head, his blue eyes sparkling.
"Who?"
"Viktor Krum!"